


Five Meetings + One Time It Led to More

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Happy Ending, I'm not harsh with her I promise, M/M, Sherlock AU, background mention of David, based on Brief Encounter, greg makes an appearance, john is unhappily married, mary as a background character, sherlock is not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4403414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very loosely based on the 1945 film "Brief Encounter" in which an unhappily married woman meets a stranger on the train and they fall in love. They continue to meet there over time but their love is not meant to be. </p><p>I promise a happy ending for our two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Strange Meeting

London, UK, Modern Day

John Watson stood by the railway station, awaiting the train. His clothes were sticking to him after having been caught in a torrential downpour on the way over but he didn't seem to mind.  Every Thursday he would board the 2 o' clock train to Hyde Park. Thursdays were the only weekday he'd chosen to keep the clinic closed on as he always needed a break from swabbing throats, prescribing antibiotics and keeping the general population healthy. He'd purchased the small building two years prior and business hadn't slowed since seeing as healthcare was something everyone needed. On Thursdays he allowed himself to relax, to escape work, to escape his home life. 

He and Mary had been married four years but most days it felt more like forty. They had rushed into the marriage without knowing one another well enough to gauge whether or not they were compatible enough to spend the rest of their lives together, for better or worse. He found himself making excuses to leave - an emergency call from a patient, he'd forgotten to lock the back door to the clinic, a friend needed a shoulder to cry on. It wasn't something he was proud of but if he were honest with himself he'd admit that the marriage had gone down hill in the first year. Newlyweds were supposed to want to spend every waking minute together, clawing at one anothers clothing or at least watch late night movies together rather than sleeping in separate rooms, behaving more like flatmates instead of husband and wife.

Shaking his head slightly to clear it, he stepped forward onto the train and found a seat in the back where he always sat. In his usual spot sat a much taller man. His dark curls were slightly damp and stuck to his pale forehead, his eyes were a palette of colors that John couldn't quite identify and he wore a heavy black belstaff coat with a navy scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. Sharp eyes flicked up to meet Johns for a brief moment before he scooted over to make room. John smiled slightly ( _why had he done that? he so rarely smiled these days)_ and sat.

 

 

"Sherlock Holmes," said the man next to him as he extended a gloved hand.

"John Watson,"  replied John as he took the other mans hand. The minute their hands touched John felt a spark of something he hadn't felt in too many years. Wondering if he alone had felt it he gazed at one Sherlock Holmes and was met with a warm smile. Johns heart beat heavy in his chest as he smiled back and put his hands back on his lap. _What was happening? Surely he needed to get out more, that had to be it._

"You were once a military doctor," Sherlock stated.

"Excuse me?"  John said with a cough. The only two people who knew of this were his close friend Mike Stamford and Mary.

"You're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. You've been married for some four years but it's an unhappy marriage and you have a psychosomatic limp,"  Sherlock rattled off without a hitch and waited for the other mans face to recoil in anger as most people did. 

John merely cocked his head to the side and said "That's brilliant, how did you do that?"

"Was I wrong about anything?,"  Sherlock pulled his coat tighter against himself as he waited. 

"Sister, Harry is my sister,"  he answered.

"Consulting detective, the only one in the world," Sherlock said with a smile. John wasn't angry in the least. 

John nodded his head and stared down at his feet for a moment before asking rather quietly, "What about you then? Girlfriend? Wife?" 

"Girlfriend, wife? No, women aren't really my area," Sherlock replied as he stared out the window at nothing in particular.

_ Oh. OH! He was.... _

"Boyfriend then? Husband?"  John inquired and hoped he wasn't coming off as rude but he felt as if a magnet were pulling him toward the stranger beside of him, pulling them together. 

Sherlock looked startled for a moment as he turned to stare at John. He pinned him with his gaze. There was something he was missing...

John cleared his throat and muttered, "I mean that's fine if you...it's good. It's all good." 

_Get it together, Watson._ He wouldn't deny that he'd always been attracted to men, himself and Mary knew about it. He'd confided in her early in their marriage about his brief love affair with his commanding officer. It had been a whirlwind romance from the very started and it was doomed to end faster than it began. John had gotten injured in the line of duty and promptly discharged. He'd moved to London where he met Mary and hadn't heard from James Sholto since. His heart ached at the thought of how they'd left things, dangling in the air with no resolution. It wasn't as if he hadn't reached out, hadn't sent too many letters that always came back 'RETURN TO SENDER', he'd tried  _so_ hard.  He'd thrown himself head first into a marriage he wasn't ready for and tried to tamper down the memories.  

"I know it's fine," came a slightly caught off guard voice, breaking John out of his own head. 

He smiled and decided to change the subject. He'd told Sherlock all about Mary, coming back from a war zone and being utterly lost, about his sister and how she was the only family he had left but they didn't get on well. In turn Sherlock had talked of his landlady, a Mrs. Hudson, and how she might as well be his mother. He'd vaguely spoken about an emotionally distant brother and his estranged parents. It was unnerving how calm and happy John seemed with him and he found himself wishing he could stay longer when the train pulled to a stop.

"It was, um, it was nice meeting you Sherlock," he stood and offered his hand once more. 

Sherlock took it in his own and John noticed how much larger Sherlocks hand was in his own. Without his glove on John could see long pale fingers, an artists fingers his mother would've said. 

He allowed his hand to linger longer than necessary and noticed that Sherlock didn't seem to be pulling away either. 

"I should...I should go," John said, finally finding his voice as he reluctantly released Sherlock's hand. 

"It was nice meeting you, John Watson,"  Sherlock said as he put his gloves back on and gave John a small smile before heading in the opposite direction. 

John watched Sherlock's back as he walked away and felt a slight ache in his chest. Scrubbing a hand over his face he turned and went on his way.  


 


	2. A Study in Proximity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the second meeting wherein they have lunch at Angelos

**2.**

"You were right you know," John says as he turns to Sherlock.

It's Thursday and by pure accident or fate if one chose to believe in it, they've ran into one another on the train once more. It's a warm day with a slight nip in the air as it _is_ February in London and a lack of rain was pushing it, much less asking for a warmer temperature. John wore his favorite beige jumper and green tweed pants. Sherlock looked just as stunning as he recalled the last time they'd met. He was wearing an expensive blue suit with a white button up underneath, the top buttons undone to expose his neck and of course, his Belstaff coat and a loosely tied scarf. John couldn't stop himself from stealing glances when Sherlock wasn't looking. Honestly he was afraid he'd dreamed the man up until today.

"About what?" Sherlock questioned, furrowing his brow.

"Mary, about Mary. She packed up and left on Saturday, said she'd met someone new. His name is David and I'd like to say that....that I'm disappointed," John replied with a sigh.

Sherlock looked pensive for a moment as if there was something he wanted to say but decided instead to merely nod his head.

Sherlock never knew how to properly respond in situations like this without being harsh and coming off as cold and distant when he was anything but.

"Lunch?" he chose to reply with instead.

"Starving,"  John smiled and stole a glance at Sherlock who was watching a bickering couple to their right.

"Couple, mid thirties, married two years. He wants to break off the marriage but she would rather pursue therapy. Hes in love with another man but hasn't informed her of this yet choosing instead to tell her he'd prefer to be a bachelor at this time,"  Sherlock mumbled to John, eyes still glued to the couple.

"That's incredible,"  John said and before he could stop himself he patted Sherlock on the knee.

Sherlock's eyes darted down to where his hand still lay and back up to John who met his eyes for a brief moment before breaking contact. He started to  move his hand back when a warm hand pressed onto his own. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest as he flipped his hand over and intertwined his fingers with Sherlocks.

_Mad, I've gone mad. We hardly know one another and here I am holding his hand like we're a couple_

Yet they remained that way until the train pulled to a stop. 

 

They went to a cozy Italian restaurant by the name of Angelos, where Sherlock introduced him to a man he'd help get a shorter prison sentence. Naturally the man assumed they were on a date and brought a candle for the table. John noticed that Sherlock didn't even try to correct him. He'd chosen to break the awkwardness by informing Angelo that he wasn't Sherlock's date but it didn't seem to stick. 

 

Not that he would've minded being something more...

 


	3. Brief Encounter

**3.**

By this point they'd chosen to meet every Thursday at the same time. John found himself grinning at work despite the fact that his flat was now devoid of Mary and any trace of their marriage. It was irrational, he knew this, but he couldn't help but wonder if maybe someday they could be more than just friends. 

"Would you like to hear about my latest case?", Sherlock questioned.

They sat in their usual seats at the back, closer this time with legs pressing up against one another. John's blood was pumping fast in his veins and his entire body seemed to simply throb. He hoped it wasn't terribly noticeable.

"Oh God yes," John uttered before he could call the words back. _Uncalled for, Watson. You're letting your thoughts slip right off your tongue._

Sherlock smiled wide and it seemed to reach his eyes, to crinkle at the sides and....John really had to get ahold of himself. He felt like a schoolboy lusting over his friend. 

He began to rattle off details about a cabbie, a woman in pink, Anderson whoever that was and two bottles of pills. He explained that one had been poison, the other had been safe and for a moment he was tempted. John's heart sunk, they hardly knew one another but Sherlock Holmes was already the most important person in his life. It made no sense but he wanted, no... _needed_ Sherlock to stay alive.

"I couldn't do it,"  Sherlock stated, staring intensely at John until he was afraid that Sherlock could actually read his thoughts. _Am I really that transparent?_

"Why's that?",  John answered as he licked his lips. Sherlock Holmes had the incredible ability to crawl into his head and make him more nervous than he had any right to be. 

Sherlock stared down at his lap and quietly replied, "You."

"Me?"  John was terribly confused.

Sherlock reached across and took John's hand in his own just as they'd done the last time they'd met. His skin tingled in the places where his fingers intertwined with Johns. If he were to admit it even to himself he'd say that being with John was more of a rush than risking his life on a bottle of pills ever could be, more than any drug could possibly supply. Instead he said nothing but gently stroked the back of Johns hand with his thumb, enjoying the way John's breathing seemed to pick up whenever he touched him.

Still John wanted answers.

"I still don't understand,"  he questioned as he stared at their hands, keeping his eyes averted. It was hard to focus with Sherlock's thumb moving like it was. It shouldn't have been erotic but it was undeniably sexy.

"You, John Watson. It's always you,"  Sherlock said as he pressed a kiss to the back of John's hand.

"You keep me right,  he continued, "before I met you I would've taken the risk without a second thought. I'd nothing to lose."

The message came across loud and clear. John gave Sherlock's hand a little squeeze and held on tighter.

 

 

He'd taken Sherlock to his favorite place, Hyde Park. They'd sat on the park bench, legs touching as they sat as close as they could, and people watched. Sherlock would impress John with his deductions and John, of course, always found them to be amazing and brilliant. He never failed to say so. They'd reluctantly parted an hour later as Sherlock had arranged to meet a client and he'd kissed John's cheek, not caring who saw them.

John had to fight the urge to grab Sherlock by the shirt and pull him in for a proper kiss. _Softly, softly, he reminded himself. Don't rush this._


	4. A Love of All Things Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a scheduling conflict and John can't make it but they can text

Due to scheduling conflicts and overbooked appointments, John wasn't able to meet Sherlock the following Thursday. He'd texted him (they'd exchanged numbers the last time as once a week never seemed like enough) to tell him so.

 

 _won't be able to make it, appointments overbooked._ [John]

 **will miss seeing you** [Sherlock]

_next thursday then? same time?_

**of course**

 

Sherlock wasn't one for talking much whether it be texting or on the phone, not that John had tried. He went back to work, having taken a five minute break to text Sherlock and eat a measly lunch of a soggy sandwich and a red delicious apple, Earl Gray tea on the side of course. No milk or sugar, he preferred it without. 

 

 

 

Five agonizing hours later, John let himself into his flat and sank into the couch. The flat looked rather empty in that the only furniture that remained was a lumpy couch, an oak coffee table, a small kitchen table, a television and a bookshelf which held medical books and others that one might find unsettling, books about murder and serial killers. He'd always found it fascinating.

He made himself a hot cup of tea and sat down to read when his phone dinged.

 

 

**interesting case today, blonde victim early thirties with speckles all over. as it turned out it was the stepfather. having claimed one victim he'd turned to the other using bubble bath of all things. couldn't save either victim.**

_incredible,_ John typed back. By now Sherlock knew all about his fascination with crime and gruesome cases. He enjoyed hearing them, found himself wishing he could help out. 

**you should come with me sometime.**

John smiled and replied  _I'd like that._ and wondered for a moment if it was too forward. 

**next case then?**

_yes_

**_tomorrow?  
_ **

 

 

John decided to let someone else take over at the clinic, he'd recently hired another doctor to fill in when he needed help. 

_what time?_

**noonish? lestrade promised me a juicy case.  
**

_meet at your flat?  
_

 

John had never been to Sherlock's flat but he knew where he lived, knew all about his doting landlady. He worried that he was overstepping boundaries, pushing his luck. That was his curse, he never seemed to do anything by halves. It was all or nothing and when it came to Sherlock Holmes he wanted everything.

**yes**

_it's a date then_

 

John hit send and sat back in the couch, waited. 

**see you then**

came the reply and John felt disappointed. He wasn't sure why he'd expected more but it felt like they were blurring the line of friendship and the possibility of something more. 

 

 

 


	5. My Conductor of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> moving up a notch past train meetings, park benches and lunch

"John, Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson this is John Watson,"  Sherlock gave her a hug and she smiled wide at John and led them inside. 

Lestrade had promised a juicy case involving tea lights and a deadly bubble bath but he was running late as usual, that was Scotland Yard for you so they decided to take cover from the rain inside of the flat.

It was a right mess with mismatched furniture, science equipment, two overflowing bookshelves, stacks of paper everywhere and a kitchen table that probably hadn't been cleared off in years. It seemed to fit Sherlock Holmes, John thought to himself as he found a chair to sit in. It was a rusty red with gray swirling patterns over it and a plaid and red throw on the back and a Union Jack pillow to the side.

"Sherlock this place is already a mess," complained Mrs. Hudson as she moved around cups and papers.

"You must be Sherlock's new flatmate," she said with a smile as she dusted off her apron.

"No, no no I'm just a friend," he replied.

Sherlock was flipping through a stack of papers on the other side of the room, seeming to ignore them.

"Don't be shy dear, Mrs Turner next doors got married ones,"  she grinned, quite proud of herself and made her way out the door. 

 

 

John didn't have a chance to reply so he chose to read the paper instead. He couldn't put a term on what they were anyway so why try?

Just then Sherlock's phone pinged and he jumped up in excitement.

"The game is on!", he yelled and grabbed his coat, hastily wrapping his scarf around his neck as he went.

John followed as they caught a cab and went on their way.

 

In the cab they sat side by side with legs touching per usual but nothing more. John ached for something more tangible, something to prove to himself that he wasn't losing his mind, wasn't imagining things. He chose instead to take Sherlock's hand in his own and pulled him closer. In the dark of the cab he felt braver, like anything was possible. 

 

He turned his head slightly just as Sherlock turned his, both stealing glances at the other while trying to appear that they were doing anything but. 

_It's now or never._ Never was a frightening concept. 

 

He released Sherlock's hand and placed it against his cheek. _Warm, solid._

Licking his lips he moved forward and pressed them against Sherlock's. Sherlock kissed back, gentle at first then parted his lips to deepen the kiss, letting a small moan escape. John's tongue found Sherlock's and licked against it, hot and deep. He fisted his hands in Sherlock's coat to drag in him closer, he wanted more than this.

 

 

As luck would have it, the cab pulled to a stop and they broke apart panting slightly both trying to control their breathing and failing.

Lestrade took one look at them and just _knew._

 

"Who's this? We don't need anyone poking around the crime scene," he said as he stared at John who was standing to the side with arms crossed against his chest, cheeks still pink.

"Don't worry about it,"  Sherlock replied testily.

"John. John Watson, I'm a doctor," replied John as he stepped forward to Lestrades hand.

 

Sherlock bent to investigate the body, taking no precautions with gloves. He lifted a finger, a strand of hair, a foot.

"John,"  he said, eyes not moving from the victim.

"Mmm?,"  John bent down beside of him, death never quite bothered him. He'd saw his fair share in Afghanistan, too many men he hadn't been able to save.

"What do you see?,"  he questioned and turned to look at him.

 

They were standing in a small bathroom, next to a naked male body lying face down in the bath tub.

"Male, mid thirties, possible drowning victim but he doesn't fit the criteria exactly unless he died on dry land,"  John stated as he peered at the victim.

 

Lestrade stood near the bathroom door as they worked, a grin on his face.

Sherlock had finally found someone and that someone shared the same interests. Sure they'd tried to hide everything from the moment they'd stepped out of the cab but he knew. Sherlock Holmes wasn't a man who had friends much less colleagues. If someone was in his life, they were there for a reason. That reason being he could more than tolerate them, he _liked_ them. The doctor was shorter than Sherlock and by all accounts they appeared to be polar opposites but they worked well together. He seemed to be good for Sherlock.

 

In 36 seconds flat Sherlock had solved the mans murder, concluding that he'd died via asphyxiation in a locked room. The deceased had liked candles and long baths (John was quite guilty of that himself) and he'd taken his usual bath. Sherlock pointed out the lack of ventilation in the bathroom, the damp spot on the floor, the sticky residue of tape that had been removed. The flatmate had pressed wet towels up against the bottom of the door, taped them on for extra coverage and had waited. He knew his flatmate well enough to know he'd fallen asleep in the bath more than once.

 

"Brilliant!," John exclaimed as they made their way out of the small bathroom. Sherlock positively beamed at him, smile reaching up to crease around his eyes.

 

Lestrade patted Sherlock on the back and shook Johns hand once more as they left.

 

It was late so they'd parted ways,  John to his sparse flat and Sherlock to his cluttered one but not before a soft kiss in the cab.

 


	6. The Empty Flat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we're gonna skip forward a few months

Four months passed and John had sold his small clinic, choosing instead to accompany Sherlock on cases. There was nothing quite like running through the streets of London and feeling like he actually had a purpose.

Throughout the week they would meet for dinner at Angelos and nearly every day for cases that sometimes nearly cost them their lives. More than once he'd been prepared to take another life for the sake of whatever Sherlock Holmes was to him, they'd never really given it a name.

There were heated kisses and snogging on the couch like horny teenagers and at least twice that they'd fallen asleep next to one another but it hadn't gone further than that though John would very much like to.

 

It was a Thursday when things went further.

John had nearly died and for that matter, Sherlock too. A man by the name of Jim Moriarty had drugged him and strapped a bomb onto his chest, forced him to make Sherlock think he was the sinister one. For a moment Sherlock's eyes had softened and he'd momentarily looked lost before he realized Jim was playing John against him. In a moment Sherlock would never forget as long as he lived, John ran up behind Jim and wrapped his arms tight around his neck, yelled for Sherlock to run. He'd intended to die with Jim Moriarty to save Sherlock. He'd never had anyone offer to die for him, never assumed his life was that important.

After a tense moment and much twisted teasing, Jim had left and Sherlock desperately ripped the bomb off of Johns chest nearly taking his cardigan with it. 

"What will people think if they see you...ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool?,"  John gasped as he tried to catch his breath and scooted along the wall until he sat.

Sherlock was becoming more and more known by the day and they'd worked hard to keep their relationship well hidden as they both knew the possibly deadly risks involved should it come to light.

"People do little else,"  Sherlock laughed.

"That...that thing...you offered to do for me...thank you,"  he sputtered nervously as he paced, gun still in hand.

 

John didn't have a chance to respond before Jim returned.

"Hello boys! You didn't think I'd let you off that easily did you? The flirtings' over, Daddys had enough now,"  he said in a sing song voice as he stepped closer.

 

 

Sherlock grimaced and looked to John who wordlessly nodded his head. It was decided then, if Jim wanted to push then they'd all die together.

A phone call interrupted the tense moment as Jim walked away, yelling into the phone. Upon returning he'd informed them that they wouldn't die today, someone had called in a favor. 

 

Shaking slightly they hailed a cab and decided to make their way to Sherlock's flat which was starting to feel more like home than John's own flat.

 

John sat down on the couch with Sherlock following, placing his head in Johns lap as he ran his fingers through dark curls. They'd had quite the scare and it made John realize how lost he'd be if one finicky consulting detective wasn't in his life. He couldn't fathom the thought.

Leaning down he pressed his lips to Sherlock's, the kiss turning hot and wet, desperate.

Sherlock had sat up so John could slowly, one button at a time, remove his shirt. He felt his skin prickling, aching to be touched. He quickly pulled John's jumper over his head and trailed kisses along his jaw, stopping to lick from the base of his throat to his clavical bone.

John moaned and leaned into the touch, wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and dragged him down on top of him. Ground his hips into Sherlock's as he bit his neck.

Sherlock sighed softly and pushed harder, _harder._ If they didn't stop he was going to...

 

Just then John took his hand and led him to the bedroom, pushed him down onto the bed and unbuttoned Sherlock's pants as slowly as he could, he enjoyed watching him squirm.

He peeled his own clothing off, every piece and stood before Sherlock who looked at him with a smouldering gaze that could've melted his skin right off of him.

"Come'ere,"  John growled as he moved to press their bodies together, every inch.

 

 

Four hours and two times later they lay on the bed sweating and panting, hearts pounding.  John pulled Sherlock to his chest, curled his body around him and breathed him in.

"This was the best Thursday," he whispered and kissed Sherlock's shoulder.

"Move in with me? We can split the rent, Mrs. Hudson won't mind,"  Sherlock blurted out.

John grinned and pulled Sherlock closer, "God yes."

He felt Sherlock relax against him, felt him smile against his chest.

 

It was the beginning of something beautiful. 

 


End file.
